


Gone but not Forgotten

by reflectiveless



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Case Fic, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, deaded, dem ghost feels, ghost - Freeform, ghostlock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-03
Updated: 2017-09-09
Packaged: 2018-01-11 00:24:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 19,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1166391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reflectiveless/pseuds/reflectiveless
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock waits for John's return to surprise him that he faked his death, but not all goes according to plan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This story is currently being edited a bit, though mainly for typos. You may be confused when you look at what year this was first posted. The original story was written up to chapter 8 but never ended. I am currently writing it again and it will have regular updates. There is a reason for this, which you will find in the chapter description for chapter 9.

Chapter 1

 

Sherlock feels bad about it, he really didn’t want to hurt John like this, make him think he died. But it was necessary of course, and he knows John will be mad, furious even, but it’s worth saving his life. It’s more then worth the punch to the face he knows he will get and the angry lecture about doing things ‘a bit not good.’ He did try to tell John at least, that it was just a magic trick, did John really never observe? Besides, it’s only for one afternoon. John will come back any minute now, naturally still upset about what had happened, but then he’ll see Sherlock spread across his chair with a wide grin.

Sherlock sighs as he waits, it will be hard hiding out in the flat as Mycroft has men dispose of Moriarty’s men, but he’s alive and still has John, that’s all that matters after all. Besides, John is more then capable of keeping his exaggerated death under wraps.

So he waits.

But the sun dips and day turns to night and no one comes.

John doesn’t come home and Sherlock begins to suspect he’s made a terrible mistake. 

________________________________________

Sherlock can’t leave the flat, it was hard enough sneaking in without suspicion. If he just strolls out now he’ll be seen. He regrets dropping his phone and leaving it at Bart’s, one phone call and he knows John will come running. He had to though, if the cell phone had gone missing or turned up as still in use, Moriarty’s men would know.

Sherlock braces himself against the window, looking out at the people below and feels like an idiot. John is somewhere out there thinking he’s dead and avoiding the flat. Why hadn’t he planned for this? He should have known John would react like this, but then he was always so terrible with people, with sentiment.

________________________________________

 

It’s late the following afternoon that Sherlock gives in, has to find John and tell him he’s ok and waiting for him at the flat. He really thought John would have come home by now. It’s worth scaring the daylight out of Mrs. Hudson to use her land line, she might as well know he’s still alive anyway. But when he walks down to her flat, the door isn’t locked and she’s nowhere in sight. Good. He can just call John and get this over with in peace.

The dials are strangely difficult to press, like they’ve been corroded and hardly work anymore. But he has to call John, needs to tell him to stop worrying.  
“Y-yes?” John sounds as if he’s been crying since it happened, his voice hoarse and tired now.

Sherlock thinks of what to say, he know he’s about to give his friend the shock of his life, “John- I… I’m really sorry about this, I thought you would come home sooner but-“

“Hello?”

“John? I’m trying to tell you-“

“Anyone there?”

Bloody phone, why does Mrs. Hudson have such an infernal device? “John! Don’t hang up-“ Sherlock practically shouts but it’s too late, John the line went dead.

Sherlock is furious. Why is it so damn hard to tell him he’s alright?

He waits in Mrs. Hudson’s flat, she’s bound to come back eventually. Before he knows what’s happening though, he wakes to find he’d been kipping on her couch.  
Sherlock looks out the window and finds it’s early morning. He makes a note to himself to tell Mrs. Hudson her eyesight has clearly been going if she didn’t notice him there. He leaves and goes back to 221b, the door is locked, not as he left it.

Finally.

Sherlock can’t contain his smile, John is finally home, he can finally tell him he’s fine. He’s not sure what’s gotten in him, perhaps the lack of human interaction of the past two days, but it somehow seems like the most important thing in the world to tell John as soon as possible that he’s here.

He unlocks the door and swings it open, “John! John!” he calls loudly but there’s no answer. He sees the cracked screen of his cell phone laying on the coffee table. There’s no doubt, John was here, had come in last night as he was asleep in the apartment below. He could curse himself for not waiting here longer.

“John!” he pounds up the stairs to John’s room and walks in, he’s asleep in his bed, looking distraught.

Sherlock goes quiet for a moment, John was having nightmares again, possibly due to him.

“John… I’m so sorry. God, what was I thinking?” He shakes John’s shoulder lightly, watching his eyes flutter open.

“I’m up I’m up, you don’t have to keep calling me name.” John rubs the sleep from his eyes as Sherlock smiles down at him.

“I’m back John, I’m sorry.”

“Sherlock?” John looks around confused.

Sherlock tilts his head, “Please understand it was necessary that you-“

John cuts him off, sitting upright in his bed suddenly. “Sher….” He stops himself, can’t bring himself to say it.

“I’m sorry… I’m so sorry… I didn’t know how else to-“

John bolts from the bed, running past Sherlock and down the stairs.

“John wait! Come back, I said I’m sorry!” He calls after his flatmate as he follows him down the stairs.

John stops dead still as he sees the door wide open. He put his hand to his mouth to suppress a laugh. “You bastard, you utter bastard.” But he’s laughing, can’t believe Sherlock had really done it, survived his own suicide.

Sherlock smiles at him, “Like you really doubted for a second that I didn’t have something planned?”

Then John does something Sherlock couldn’t understand at first. Something that would break him.

John stands facing Sherlock, a wide grin on his face, “Sherlock you utter and complete bastard, where are you?”

“J-John…?”

“Sherlock?! God damn it, come out right now.” John stalks off to the kitchen, looking around, then to Sherlock’s room. He looks around confused. “Sherlock?” his shouts have died off to a whisper.

“John, what are you doing? I’m right here?”

John crawled up onto the former detective’s bed and grabbed one of the pillows, holding it to his chest. “I thought… I thought that… oh god… Sherlock… I really thought I heard you calling me.”

Sherlock furrowed his brow and sat next to him. “Shh, John… I’m sorry, but I’m here, right here. Please John, don’t cry. You were suppose to find out right after but you didn’t come home…”

John clutched the pillow closer, staring at the wall. “Yesterday when I got that phone call… for minute I thought I heard you on the other line whisper my name… but it wasn’t you.” his eyes welled up with tears.

“It was John, that was me. The line was-“

“It couldn’t have been you… You… you’re…”

“I’m here now John.” Sherlock reached his hand out to John’s shoulder and went straight through him.

“Gone.”


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

 

John continued to lay on Sherlock’s bed in the fetal position, hugging Sherlock’s pillow close, it still smelled like his over priced shampoo and after-shave. He wasn’t sure how long he had been there like that, but it was too painful to leave. It felt like Sherlock’s presence was right there with him, he knew it was just his grief-ridden mind playing tricks on him.

Sherlock lay next to him, wishing beyond hope that he could reach out and pull him close, but apparently he was beyond the ability to touch now. “I’m so sorry John… this wasn’t suppose to happen… I wasn’t supposed to… die. Not for real. Something must have gone wrong.” He was finally understanding what was happening to him.  
“Why Sherlock? Why would you do this?”

Sherlock knew he couldn’t hear him; that John was essentially talking to himself. “It was for you John… I was trying to save you. Lestrade and Hudson too.” His heart ached deeply for him, he didn’t think John would be this distraught over his death, why had he ever thought that?

“What am I suppose to do now?” John’s voice was barely above a whisper. “You saved me…”

At first Sherlock thought he was talking about jumping off the building.

“That first night here with you… you changed my life. You didn’t just fix my limp, you fixed me. Gave me a purpose. I don’t have a purpose now.”

“John… you have a purpose, you have to keep living.” Sherlock felt worse then dead, he felt broken. He realized for the first time that people don’t live for the sake of living, they live for those close to them. “You’re a doctor, you save lives. That’s a far better purpose then some people serve.”

“I know you were lying-“

Sherlock’s eyes went wide, did John really think of him as a fraud now?

“You never cared what anyone thought of you, you wouldn’t care what the papers printed. Not now. Not ever. That’s not why you… there was a different reason.”

“I should have told you how clever you are far more often.” Sherlock smiled faintly.

“I’m going to find out why you did it Sherlock, I swear to god, I will find out what really happened.” John wiped his tears away.

“One day you might,” Sherlock whispered quietly. He wasn’t sure why he was here now that he had time to think on his situation. He had never actually thought of the possibilities of what would happen after death beyond the body decomposing. He assumed it would be like a dreamless sleep, that you just stopped existing.

This was certainly not some fire filled pit, nor a cloudy realm of everything he ever wanted. There were no deceased relatives to greet him or a bright light summoning him forth. He was just there, right on the brink of existence. Evidentially invisible, incorporeal, and unheard.

Curious, he stood and made his way to the bathroom to peer in the mirror. He could see himself quite well, though he assumed he was likely the only one that could view his own reflection now. He was wearing the same clothes as when he jumped off St. Bart’s. He was sure his corpse was probably not, it would likely have been stripped and left on a mortician’s table by now. There was no obvious cause of death, in fact, he looked rather alive. This made one thing obvious at least, the physical world apparently had no bearing on his appearance now. Though he also considered if he was what one might refer to as a ‘soul’, there was truly no need for clothing. In fact, he likely wouldn’t look like his physical form at all, genetics and souls having little to do with one another, he reasoned. But he couldn’t deny that he really did seem to look the way he always had.

 

“Ah but that’s it!” He finally understood. He looked the way he saw himself as. He concentrated hard on the image before him, and soon found he could easily change what he was wearing just by thinking. Though with no one else to see, this new trick seemed to be of little use.

Sherlock tilted his head in thought, he was certainly not the first person to ever die, so where was everyone else? He had spent the past two days in unnecessary hiding, but on his way to the flat…. Sherlock blinked rapidly. He couldn’t recall now how exactly he had gotten here after his fall. He wasn’t even sure how his plan had gone awry ending in his death.

He needed to go back there and see what had happened. Sherlock marched off for the door, but his hand went straight through the door handle. He sighed, that hadn’t happened the first time he tried it this morning, which gave him a sudden pause. He had opened the door earlier… using what he had to assume was an imaginary key now since it didn’t have a real one. He had unlocked and opened the door with his mind, not by going through the physical motions like he would have if he was still in a body. He tried the door handle again but still couldn’t hold onto it. This was definitely something he would have to try again. Then there was John, he seemed to hear him calling his name this morning, said he heard what sounded like Sherlock whisper on the other end of the phone yesterday. There was still a way he could contact John then, tell him he was… well, ‘ok’ was probably an over statement, he was technically dead after all. But he could contact him again, try to get him out of the mourning fit he was in possibly.  
Sherlock stared at the door blocking his way, he couldn’t open it, but perhaps that meant- he closed his eyes and stepped forward, opening them again to find he had passed through the door. That would take some getting use to. Sherlock glided down the steps but as soon as he tried to walk through the outer door and onto the street it was as if he slammed into a wall.

“I thought I was over having to open these damned things…” he tried grabbing the handle but it wouldn’t budge. “I see. So I’m trapped haunting the flat.”

Sherlock went back up, thoroughly irritated he couldn’t leave. Hopefully he would find some way around that soon. It was bound to get terribly boring in 221b all day without the ability to touch anything.

Now was as good a time as any to start trying to move things. He became so focused on trying to turn the page of an open book that he didn’t hear Mrs. Hudson come in.

“Oi John! It’s freezing in here!”

John wandered out of Sherlock’s bedroom, feeling like he had been caught doing something bad, though when he was in there he couldn’t help but feel strangely welcomed.

“I know, I woke up colder then ever this morning. Somehow the door came open in the night.” John was so sure he had locked it last night.

“Well it was closed just now.” She went about making them both tea.

“It… it was? Must be a draft…” John knew he didn’t shut it after his mad dash through the flat in false hope that Sherlock had come back.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

 

Like all of Sherlock’s experiments, he quickly became immersed in this new one, spending all his time focused entirely on trying the simple feat of moving things. It was far more difficult then he had thought it would be, but he was slowly picking up little tricks. If an object was already in motion, it was significantly easier to move it. A door moving a bit from the wind or someone else starting to shut it was simple enough to slam shut or open, unfortunately that had given Mrs. Hudson quite the scare when she was around for it.

He could also move small objects a tiny amount, it wasn’t nearly enough for anyone to noticed, but with practice he figured he could move up to larger items and moving things further, maybe even picking something up entirely.

Sherlock glanced down at his broken discarded phone that still lay where John had put it on the coffee table, and had done everything in his power to not look at since then. Sherlock wasn’t sure why he had kept the thing if it seemed to be causing him pain. He reached out to attempt to move it even though it was larger then the pens and buttons he had been practicing with, it moved, if only slightly, but was far easier to interact with then the previous items. He hummed in curiously at it, his fingers swiping over the front when the screen curiously came on when he was sure it had been broken. Did it only work for him now? The screen lit up with missed texts.

I miss you. JW

Please come back. JW

I know you wont get these, but I wanted you to know that you are my best friend and mean the world to me. Please stop this. Stop being dead. JW

Sherlock wanted to type back a response so bad, but he doubted he was capable of doing it, not only would his fingers not press the buttons down but the phone technically had no service now even if he was able to use it through otherworldly ways. Besides, what would he say? ‘I’m sorry’? ‘I’m dead but don’t worry I’m haunting the flat’? He knew John wouldn’t believe the text was actually from him anyway.

Sherlock hated himself for what he had done, he could tell John was slowly becoming a wreck. He just wanted to be there for him but knew it was an impossibility now. Maybe ceasing to exist would have been better then this. He went to find John, maybe just watching him for a while would calm him down. When he found him, John was asleep in Sherlock’s bed again. Sherlock wasn’t sure if he liked having John close to his worldly possessions or if it made him sad how poorly he was moving on.

“John?” he whispered from the doorway, maybe he would hear him again like he had that morning. But John barely stirred. Sherlock drew closer, John was breathing heavily with his eyes squeezed shut, possibly having a nightmare Sherlock thought. He knew it would probably do no good, but Sherlock tried rubbing the side of John’s face with his hand to sooth him.

 

***

Suddenly Sherlock was standing in an empty ally surrounded by impossibly tall buildings. There was just enough ambient light to see by but it was otherwise extremely dark and filled with garbage. It looked a bit like the back alleys of London, but he couldn’t think of anywhere in the city that was this garishly painted or had quite so many trash bins. He heard the faint far off call of what sounded like his own voice, ‘Hurry up John! We’re almost there!’ as foot steps splashed through puddles and quickly approached him from beyond the corner. Sherlock blinked rapidly in confusion, he saw himself running around the corner right at him before fading away into nothing. A second pair of foot steps and a heavy panting breath followed, and within seconds John was running around the same corner. He came to an abrupt stop when he saw Sherlock standing there motionless.

“Sherlock! What are you doing?” John panted heavily, “It’s coming, we have to keep going.”

“You- you can see me?”

There was a horrible howl that came from the direction John had been running away from. John had a look of pure terror as he glanced over his shoulder, “We don’t have enough time, come on Lock!” He grabbed Sherlock’s hand, it felt as real as anything, and began running again. The deafening howl only got louder as it gained speed on them.

The alleys twisted and turned in ways that Sherlock knew where impossible, they had gone around at least one square block on all it’s sides and never found the front, but John seemed not to notice at all.

“John you need to stop! Look around you, none of this makes sense, there’s nothing chasing us, it isn’t real.”

“What are you talking about? It’s coming, it’s going to kill us, don’t you dare leave me now!” John yelled out thunderously sending Sherlock back a bit.

“I… I’m not leaving you John. Just calm down, this isn’t real, it’s a dream.” A nightmare really.

“We have to get to St Bart’s, it’s the only place he can’t get in. But then you have to leave me…” John’s voice had gone quiet; he looked as though he was on the verge of a mental breakdown.

“I’m not going to leave John, I’m right here, I’m not going anywhere.” Sherlock tried pulling him close but John pushed him away. “You said this was a dream, so you’re not real, you’re just lying to me.” John’s tone was infuriated again.

The howling started again and John was once again terrified.

“There’s no hound, nothing is coming for you.” Sherlock tried desperately to reassure him.

“Hound? What are you talking about?”

“The… we’re not being chased by the hound from our visit to the Baskervills?” Sherlock was sure this was some fear left over from that case.

There was a deep snarling coming from the direction they were running towards, John went stiff. A deep fog was masking what was waiting for them.

Sherlock’s voice quieted significantly, he kept mentally reminding himself that this was all a dream but somehow that didn’t help too much.

“John… what’s after us then?”

John swallowed thickly, “Moriarty.”

A slender figure appeared at the edge of the fog slowly walking closer to them.

“John, I swear to you, this is just a dream.” Sherlock needed to think of something fast, logically he knew John would eventually wake up, but his mind was racing now. If it was a dream, that meant they needed dream logic to get out. “You need to think of a way out, anything, just imagine it really hard and vividly.”

John shut his eyes, desperately wanting to believe Sherlock that everything would be fine, but something in the back of his mind told him things would be worse if this was just a dream. That somehow this was better then waking up. He closed his eyes, thinking hard of being away from Moriarty. A flash of light momentarily blocked Sherlock’s field of vision. The first thing he noticed after he could see again was that it was morning with the sun just coming out over an open sky. That was a good sign at least.

“John, thank god, you did it.” There were no tall buildings around them anymore, no howling monsters to attack them.”

“He’s still coming…”

Sherlock turned to face John, hadn’t they just gotten away from that dream? He took in his new surroundings, it made sense why the sky was so clear now, no buildings blocking their vision, they were on a roof.

No…

“John, John! Stop, stop this!”

John was hyperventilating at the edge of the roof, Sherlock gathered it was a safe bet to assume he knew what building they were on top of. He grabbed John by the waist and pulled him away from the ledge.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?!”

“I have to get away from him… there’s no other way Lock… He’s coming…”

“You don’t have to do that, it’s a dream, he’s not real, he’s…”

“Dead.”

Sherlock went stiff. If John could remember that Moriarty was dead now…

John struggled to get free from Sherlock, his target was still the ledge of the roof.

“No! What are you doing? There’s nothing to run from now!” Sherlock tried keeping his grip but John eventually got free, barely giving Sherlock enough time to grab hold of his arm.

Tears were rolling down John’s face, “I just want to be with you. Please Sherlock, just let me. I need this. I need you. I can’t keep going without you Lock.”

“John no, you cant do this, I wont let you. There are so many people that need you, love you, you cant leave them.”

“You did.”

Sherlock could feel his heart stopping.

“You left me… you left and you’re not coming back.” John fell to his knees crying.

Sherlock wrapped himself around him, “I didn’t mean to. Wake up John, please wake up.”

***

John’s eyes snapped open, for a brief second he could have sworn he saw Sherlock leaning over him with a worried expression. But with the blink of his eyes the image was gone and he was alone in the flat once more. He pulled a pillow close to his chest and gripped it tightly as he buried his face into it. In public he had tried so hard to look like he was trying to move on, tried so hard to keep himself together. But with no one around there was no reason to pretend and he cried freely into Sherlock’s pillow.


	4. Chapter 4

John sat at the kitchen table, his hand shaking terribly as he lifted his tea cup to take a sip. The flat had never felt so empty before. He nearly jumped out of his seat when he heard Mrs Hudson come in.

“Sorry deary! Didn’t mean to frighten you, heard some strange sounds and thought I might check up on you is all.”

John groaned internally, he must have made noises during his nightmare then. It had all seemed so real at the time. Especially Sherlock, although, in his dream, Sherlock held him. That was something Sherlock had never done and was possibly incapable of he thought. Sherlock had simply never been the sentimental type. He sighed, the last thing he had said to his friend in person was that he was a machine. He regretted the words more then anything. So he wasn’t sentimental or particularly fond of emotional outburst such as holding. Sherlock was honest and cared in his own way. John could never have asked for more then that.

“Are you feeling alright?” Mrs Hudson woke him from his quiet reverie.

“Oh, right, y-yes. Had some trouble trying to sleep earlier is all. Sorry if I bothered you.”

“Never you mind that, lets get some food in you.” She made her way to the cupboards like a doting parent as John sank into his seat a bit further.

“You really don’t need to…” he mumbled softly.

Sherlock sat at the opposite end of the table in a chair that had not been properly pushed back as he watched his flatmate- which he felt they still were since he was evidently haunting the place. John had really seen and heard him in his dream, felt him even. That meant he might be able to communicate with him that way, but it also meant he would be running the risk of being thought of as imaginary. His options were rather limited so far though.

Sherlock sighed as John and Mrs Hudson began their usual small talk. It was obvious she was just checking up on him, making sure he was at least trying to move on. John always did a good job of faking it at least, but Sherlock saw what John thought was private, and after that dream last night… John really shouldn’t be thinking about jumping off buildings. That was certainly a bad sign.

Mrs Hudson was busily preparing food for John when she turned to bring him the plate and passed through Sherlock’s out stretched arms, immediately trembling from the cold.  
“I’ll have to get someone to fix your heater, this place is always freezing lately.”

John snorted, “I know, it’s been this way since…” he went silent. Perhaps Sherlock had been adjusting the heating before, knew whatever trick there was to get it to work.  
Sherlock frowned, John was only ever sad when he thought of him. “There’s no trick, I’m just sucking up all the energy in here to exist apparently. I would make it warm if I could.”

His words went unheard as usual.

“I know dear, don’t think about it now.” Mrs Hudson tried calming John before he sank further into depression.

Sherlock couldn’t look, he was too afraid he might see John’s eyes redden and well up over him again. He looked down at the table, hand slowly moving towards the saltshaker for a distraction and poked it. The salt fell over. He froze, staring at it. Had he really just done that?

John’s eyes shot up at it.

Mrs Hudson tisked, “Must have bumped the table, don’t worry, I’ll get that for you.”

John didn’t respond. Sherlock had been teaching him how to deduce things for himself. He hadn’t bumped the table, and Mrs Hudson wasn’t near it. Perhaps it was just a passing car… from two stories down. He blinked, he was clearly over thinking this. Wasn’t spilled salt bad luck?

“John?” Sherlock watched as his friend was staring at the shaker. He had seen it. Sherlock tried pressing his finger against the salt again, it didn’t budge. Damn. He was so close.  
Once the salt was cleaned up, John still sitting in his chair and looking aimlessly down at the table while Sherlock tried desperately to touch anything, Mrs Hudson excused herself and left. John seemed unreachable to her now.

“I miss you Sherlock.” John murmured to the empty flat.

Sherlock laid his hand over John’s, John felt suddenly cold but didn’t move.

“There was so much I never told you, can never tell you now.”

“I’ll be here listening if you do.” Sherlock promised.

________________________________________

 

John had decided he really couldn’t sleep in Sherlock’s bed again. It was simply wrong on too many levels. In the back of his mind he knew he should have the room cleared out along with most of Sherlock’s things, but he wouldn’t let himself think of that. It had a finality that didn’t sit right with him. John kept stealing glances of Sherlock’s room as he watched tv, the hour getting later as he continued to remind himself not to sleep in there.

Sherlock merely grew frustrated with him.

“I’m only taking a pillow, his were softer and it’s better for my neck.” John told himself as he went in to grab one.

But they were Sherlock’s pillows. On Sherlock’s bed. How could he possibly remove one from it’s rightful place? This is where it belonged with the rest of Sherlock’s possessions.  
Sherlock had been following John all day, getting annoyed when he suddenly left the room without warning. He closed his eyes, practically willing himself to be there. A moment later he found he was standing in his room by John. He swallowed, he had just in essence teleported himself across the flat.

John’s hand trailed down the sheets. This was wrong. He knew he wasn’t moving on and he had to get sleep for work in the morning. He turned to head for his own room.

“Stay.” Sherlock blurted out, not that it mattered what he ever said now.

John paused, looking back. Sherlock almost thought he had heard him for a moment. John ran his tongue nervously over his lip, “You- you wouldn’t mind would you?” his voice was a low whisper, not meant for anyone to hear. “I know this is horribly sentimental. You would have scoffed.” John stepped closer to the bed.

“I wouldn’t. I know I was distant… but I want you here now.” Sherlock inhaled sharply, even though he knew logically he didn’t need to breath, it was just instinct. “I don’t want to be alone.”

“Just one more night.” John felt so strangely welcomed in this room now. He thought staying in it would scare him before; remind him of what he lost. But John felt so surrounded by his friend’s presence, it was well worth the cold. He slipped into the sheets, trying his best not to shiver.

Sherlock lay beside him, concentrating hard on not being cold. John suddenly relaxed into the bed. Curious, Sherlock lightly touched John’s chest. He was much warmer now. Sherlock smiled, it was a simple matter of which form he was converting energy from.

“I’ll get the hang of this eventually.”


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

 

John woke early, feeling well rested for the first time in a while. Unfortunately he didn’t have much time to appreciate it before he had to go back to the hospital. He had to come off his leave of work at some point after all.

Sherlock was dreading this. He still couldn’t get past the door that led outside. He would be alone all day now. Somehow it seemed much easier to get John to stay around when they were in his room. He knew it was likely the same reason why he had better luck with moving objects that use to belong to him opposed to just anything.

John caught himself making two cups of tea by mistake, one had been intended for Sherlock. He sighed and pushed it aside on the counter. He didn’t want to fuss with cleaning it now anyway.

“Please stay John.”

John finished his cup and put it in the sink.

“At least do that thing were you sound like you’re talking to me.” Sherlock almost thought that might work. They had had so many almost conversations, John talking to himself with Sherlock responding.

John headed for the door, one last sad glance of the apartment. Sherlock angrily followed.

“I forbid you from leaving me today!” Sherlock raced down the stairs. He knew he couldn’t get past that point.

John paused for a moment, his hand feeling strange as he reached for the knob and turned. He reminded himself that he had to go to work and stop waiting for a man that would never come home. John walked outside, inhaling deeply. It wasn’t as bad as he thought it might be.

“Come back here!” Sherlock followed, taking him a moment to realize he had actually made it outside. He looked around, completely mystified as John locked the door. Outside. He thought he might never see this again.

John went to the subway, Sherlock hurried to follow.

________________________________________

 

Sherlock lounged in an empty chair as John worked, often deducing what was wrong with patients before John figured it out. It was almost like old times. Perhaps he hadn’t been haunting the flat after all, he was haunting John.

John guided a woman inside, his voice noticeably softer with this woman then with his other patients. Sherlock quickly noticed the thick black glasses and walking stick. Blind. He lolled his head back, already getting bored with John’s job.

“Who else is in here?” the woman asked, obviously annoyed that John hadn’t told her.

Sherlock looked back up, perplexed. Clearly she was just mistaken.

“It’s just you and me, we’re in my office alone.” John brushed the comment off.

“I know when there’s people in a room doctor. And there’s a man in that chair.”

John quickly looked over his shoulder at the empty chair. “I’m afraid you’re mistaken…”

“My sight isn’t completely gone, I can’t make out much more then the chair, but I can smell his after shave and chemicals on him. I don’t appreciate being lied to.”  
Sherlock was fully attentive now.

Something about the description put John on edge. “Really, there’s no one here.”

The woman continued to look at the empty chair. Suddenly John didn’t want to look at it again. Perhaps it was his imagination, but it seemed every one of his patients looked in that corner when they first came in today. He told himself he was imagining things, or making something out of nothing.

John made sure her visit was a short one.

He sucked in a deep breath, his eyes downcast towards the floor as he faced the chair. John’s head slowly raised, not sure what he had expected to see. It was a simple plastic chair; everyone’s office had at least one. He opened his mouth for a moment as if to speak before shaking his head.

‘You’re getting paranoid now. Time to head back home.’ John started clearing up some papers on his desk before deciding to leave early. He just needed a bit more time was all.

“You’re getting closer John.” Sherlock whispered, waiting for him to tidy up before he could follow him out.

________________________________________

 

John took the long way home, walking down the London streets he use to run by with Sherlock while they were on cases. He knew those days were long gone. He didn’t have Sherlock’s wit, there would be no reason for him to show up at crime scenes. There hadn’t been a reason even with Sherlock though, he never contributed anything the genius didn’t already know or medical information an autopsy would reveal. He had simply been there all those times for Sherlock. Someone for him to feel like less of a ‘freak’ around as John bombarded him with compliments.

Sherlock silently followed. Perhaps it was his eternal fate to follow the man he had left behind?

John looked up, noticing he was only a block from the morgue now. It was still early and he knew Molly would be working. The flat was an empty and constant reminder of what he had lost, perhaps paying a friend a visit could help.

________________________________________

 

“You complain nearly every time we come look at bodies and now you’re the one wandering in on your free time. Really John, is this what grief has done to you?” Sherlock examined the bruised knuckles of a corpse. “This one fought back in his final moments… I’ll bet it was his lover, if only I could interview some people…”

John waited cautiously by the door until Molly stepped in, clearly a bit surprised to see him.

She gave her best modest smile, “John, it’s so good to see you, I was worried that… I mean, thanks for dropping by. Is there anything I can do for you?”

“Just a social call today. Came to see how you are.” He had a tight forced smile, debating internally if it was a good idea to come or not.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, “I know what you’re thinking, and yes, letting me have something minimally less boring then stalking you was definitely worth your current emotional turmoil.” If there were dead people here why were there no other ghosts? Sherlock looked around, he still seemed to be the only one. At least he didn’t have to interact with anyone.

“You can always stop by you know, or call me over. I’m always glad to see you.” Molly had been grieving as well, Sherlock had of course meant a great deal to her and she couldn’t stop blaming herself in part for what had happened. ‘If only I had talked him out of it, there was always a possibility the plan wouldn’t go right…’ She blinked her tears away. John wasn’t allowed to know about that though.

“We could get coffee sometime if you like, I’ve been feeling stuffed up in the flat lately- Molly?”

She was looking past him, “Do you hear that? There’s a noise, like someone moving the tables…”

John turned to look, the corpses were in the same places, and no one alive seemed to be around, he turned back. “I didn’t hear-“

Molly went paler then anyone he had seen before.

“Sh-Sherlock??” her voice was shaking along with her body.

John’s whole form whipped around faster then he thought possible, for a brief moment he thought… ‘No, no… you’re imagining things. There’s no one there now.’


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

John quickly had Molly sit down as he took her pulse. It was definitely elevated from normal.

“Just breath, try to calm down. It wasn’t… there’s no one there now.” John corrected himself. He still wasn’t entirely sure himself what they had just seen. Perhaps it really was… no, John couldn’t let himself start thinking like that.

“J-John! I-I’m so sorry- I” Molly was sobbing suddenly, her hands covering her face as her words became harder to interpret.

“Shh, It’s ok, I know, you thought you saw him but-“

Molly cut him off, “I made him promise- oh John! I’m so sorry, this is- everything- it’s my fault.”

John blinked several times before continuing, “What are you talking about? Make him promise what?”

Molly choked out another sob, trying to steady herself. She knew there was no way she could live with this guilt. “Sherlock… I didn’t know how to tell you, this wasn’t suppose to happen. But then, he really died and…”

“ ‘Really died?’ “ John was starting to get a nauseous feeling in his gut as Molly only nodded grimly.

“Jim- he thought he had the upper hand, but Sherlock knew that he could get away if he were… to…”

“Die.” John helped out, the word sticking in his throat.

Molly nodded again. “He didn’t plan on dying though…” her voice was barely above a whisper. “He had it all planned out, there were… risks, but the chance of success was more then in his favor.”

“Just a magic trick…” John mumbled to himself, suddenly the odd phrasing Sherlock had used through out their last conversation was starting to make sense. “He lied to me!? He stood there on that building making me think the worst when he was….” Except that wasn’t how it had panned out. John’s sudden outburst was only made all the more awkward by the silence that followed it. “So… What happened? What went wrong?

“The roof isn’t that high off the ground, there’s a drug that-“

“He fucking jumped off a building thinking he would be fine?”

“Not fine- just, alive. He counted on breaking some bones, it had to be believable.”

“Except that he’s not alive.”

“No…”

“and… this ‘promise’?”

“I made Sherlock swear to me that he would tell you he was alright as soon as he could. He promised he would, that he knew you would be mad and he deserved to be yelled at, but that it would only be an hour- two at most before you found out. It was the only reason I didn’t call to warn you first. John, I’m so sorry! I should have stopped him! There must have been another way.”

“No… this is Sherlock, if there was another way, he would have taken that instead.” John took a shuddering breath. Sherlock wasn’t trying to kill himself. He wasn’t sure if that made things better or worse. “Idiot…”

Molly looked like she was about to burst into sobs again at that.

“Not you, him.”

“But…” Molly dried her tears with a tissue, “You just said that…”

“I did, but he’s still an idiot. He should have told me.” John would have done anything for Sherlock to have told him he was alright though. “His plan wouldn’t have worked anyway, I didn’t even go home that first day…” How could he face the flat that soon after Sherlock’s death after all.

“Greg told me. He… he would have found a way to get a hold of you. I’m sure of that.”

“Yea… he would.”

________________________________________ 

John sat in a confused stupor in his wingback, staring across at the empty leather chair that was Sherlock’s. It was hard to push the vague momentary image from the morgue out of his mind. He was just stressed, it was still so soon after Sherlock had… after his accident. John had to remind himself that Sherlock didn’t mean for this to happen. 

“You would have told me…” His voice sounded strange in the empty flat.

There was a small sound, likely his imagination he told himself. It was as if someone had adjusted themselves in the seat in front of him.

“You wouldn’t have let me think you weren’t ok for longer then you had to.” John couldn’t seem to look away from the chair, it held a strange captivating power over him. He tried shaking the feeling off. He had obviously imagined Sherlock in the morgue, his subconscious desperately wanting his friend to be ok.

He grabbed his laptop and sat at the desk near by, snapping the top up as he went to his blog. There were a ton of comments about what had happened, he briefly scrolled through some before deciding he didn’t want to look at any of them. In the corner of the page he noticed he had a private message he hadn’t read yet, it pre dated Sherlock’s… John rubbed his eyes before opening it up.

 

Dr Watson and Mr Holmes,

I seem to be having a rather unusual problem in one of the flats I rent out. I cant seem to get any of my tenants to stay for more then a week, but when I ask why they leave they refuse to say. They don’t even refuse to pay the rent, but I’m running out of potential tenants. I was hoping you two could help me out?

Regards,  
Daniel Rogers

 

John sighed. This was a letter he wasn’t looking forward to writing.

 

Mr Rogers,

I regret to inform you that Sherlock has passed away since I received this message and I am no longer in the business of solving-

 

There was a crash from the kitchen that sent John jumping to his feet. A pantry was open with several plates shattered on the ground.

“How the hell…” John groaned, grabbing the broom and a pan to clean the mess up with.

________________________________________

 

Mr Rogers,  
Sounds potentially fascinating, come to 221b Baker Street tomorrow afternoon, bring anything you might have that pertains to this problem.

________________________________________ 

By the time John got back to his computer the screen was frozen.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

John came home early from work the following day, they were over staffed and he decided a good sit and a cuppa might help with his nerves- if he could ever get his computer to work again. Just as John had put the kettle on, there was a knock at the door. That was unusual, his friends didn’t tend to drop in unannounced.

“Just a moment.” He unlocked the door to see a husky man that had brought a cardboard box with him. “uh- Hello? Can I- uh, help you?”

“I certainly hope so,” the man made his way past John, putting the box on the coffee table and taking a seat. “I was a but surprised you wanted me here today- good thing I saw the message on time. But I brought all my tenant’s receipts and even the security cam from the porch.”

“I’m sorry- what?”

The man cocked his head for a moment, “Oh, right, you mentioned on the blog that Mr Holmes didn’t always warn you about cases, I guess he’s the one that sent the messages. I’m Daniel Rogers, I messaged you about the flat problem?”

“Oh, Mr Rogers?” The letter suddenly came back to him, “I think there’s been a misunderstanding, you see-“ The kettle whistled loudly from the kitchen. “S-sorry, just a moment.” John went to remove the water from the burner, Daniel following him.

“I was really hoping you two could help, I’ve heard such great things about Sherlock and the last time I asked someone to investigate they refused on the grounds of the case being too absurd to be real.”

“I can assure you that’s not the problem,” John poured two cups, feeling sorry for the man before guiding him back to the front room.

“Ah, see he’s gone through it already.” Daniel grinned, figuring that meant they would investigate the case after all. The contents of the box were scattered across the table, pictures of previous occupants of the flat put out and a disk labeled ‘security footage’ sitting on the edge of the table.

John had turned stark white. “I think you better explain how you ended up coming here today…”

“I got a message from your blog, it just said that who ever sent it was interested in the case and I should come by today.”

John quickly scurried off, checking each room of the flat aimlessly. There was no one there besides himself and Mr Rogers. “I swear to god, if this is some kind of a sick joke…”  
“I- I don’t understand, I thought Mr. Holmes wanted me to come- the message-“

There was a ping sound from John’s lap top, which generally meant he had a new messages, except his computer had been frozen since last night when… Things were starting look a bit suspicious. John grabbed the computer, finding it in perfect working order now.

'Play the disk.'

The private message had been sent from his own account.

Who the hell is this? This is sick and I want answers.

There was no reply. John bit his lower lip, he didn’t like anything about this. He snapped up the disk and pushed it into his computer, the footage from just outside the flat popping up. “So what am I suppose to be looking for on this?”

“Fast forward the tape to 3 am.” Daniel leaned over his shoulder, a little confused what was going on with John.

The tape was sped up, a man- presumably the person who lived in the flat at the time, going in and out with several boxes, obviously just moving in. At 2:59, John pressed play, the lights were out, the street looked like it had been quiet for a while by then. The lights suddenly came on at exactly 3, a few moments later the man came running out of the flat, leaving the door wide open.

“He never came back after that, sent for his possessions. I can’t figure out why he would just run out like that.”

“That is strange… but I’m afraid I can’t help, Sherlock…” John cleared his throat, there was a strange breeze that only hit his neck. No… not breeze, breath. It was exactly like the numerous times that Sherlock would come up behind him and whisper something important in his ear. John swallowed hard, trying his hardest to keep from turning around, no one was there, he was sure of it.

Take the case.

It was no more then a whisper, he wasn’t even entirely sure if he had heard it.

“W-we’ll do it… I’ll come by soon to see the flat.”

Daniel was overjoyed as he shook John’s hand, “Thank you! You guys are really helping me out here.”

John stood frozen as the man let himself out, leaving the box for further evidence collecting.

“Bloody hell… what did I just do?” John pulled out his cell phone, momentarily thinking of making an emergency appointment with his old therapist. But she would only prescribe medication, and he wasn’t convinced that was what he needed.

Come over as soon as you can. JW

Is everything ok? xMollyx

No, it’s about Sherlock. JW

________________________________________

 

Molly was there in less then hour, still wearing her lab coat from work. John was on his fourth cup of tea, which shook nervously in his hand.

“Did something happen? Something new I mean, you’ve been doing well- at least last night it seemed like it,” until they both thought they had seen Sherlock, but she didn’t mention that.

“Well… it seems I have a case actually…”

“/We/. /We/ have a case.” Sherlock rolled his eyes as he tapped his foot, nervous over how poorly John was still taking things. He knew they couldn’t hear him, despite his best efforts. It had taken everything in him to write those messages and whisper to John earlier. Though at least he hadn’t gone running like the man on the security tape.

“A case?” Molly raised an eyebrow.

“I’m not really sure how it happened, bit of a mix up with messages I suppose-“ John knew full well that wasn’t what happened. “I think that…” ‘My dead flat mate set me up so he doesn’t get bored in the after life.’ John wasn’t sure how to word this. “Are you religious at all?”

Molly shook her head, she was a more science minded person, seeing dead bodies all day had jaded her after a while, even if she wasn’t as cold as Sherlock. “Did you… see him again?”

“N-no, nothing like that. I think he might be here. I know that sounds crazy, but I feel like he’s still here in the flat sometimes, or watching me at work. Then today,” John sighed, “I think he wanted me to take this case.”

Molly nodded, it sounded like something Sherlock would do. “I’ve seen things in the morgue before, not Sherlock, just… sometimes late at night in there, I’ll hear people, doors will open, that sort of thing. I… I believe you John.”

“I’m not even sure I believe myself right now.” John set his tea down before he could accidentally drop it. “I’ve not exactly been the most stable of people in the past.”

Sherlock shifted on the opposite end of the sofa, John was only just realizing he might be here. He needed to show him, confirm John’s suspicion. But sending emails didn’t prove a thing. Sherlock carefully scooted closer to the teacup John had discarded, analyzing it carefully. He poked at the cup- nothing. Placing his thumb and middle finger around the saucer, he tried his best to slide it to no avail.

Molly wrapped her arms around her chest a bit, “Bit cold in here…”

“Sorry about that, there’s been something wrong with the heat lately, the flat keeps getting cold spots, still haven’t figured that out.”

“Energy conversion… that’s it!” Sherlock quickly got to his feet. He was sucking the heat out of the room, he needed a greater amount of energy to cause anything to happen. People ran on food, he no longer had that luxury… though that suited his former appetite just fine anyway. Not having to eat could be benefit.

The only problem was that he wasn’t quite sure how he was draining the heat exactly. He ran his hand up the lamp, the light beginning to flicker a bit. Sherlock gripped the metal just below the light bulb hard; the light gave a few death throws before going completely black.

Molly jumped up with a small yelp.

“It’s alright! Don’t panic, just a bad bulb.” John quickly flicked a new light switch on. “Didn’t mean to spook you with all this talk.” He frowned.

Sherlock could feel the energy stored up inside him, desperately wanting to be let out. He rubbed his hands together enthusiastically before knocking over a stack of books. John and Molly immediately snapped their heads up.

“Wind…” John attempted to explain. “I mean, it was just a stack of books, it was probably waiting to fall over at any second.”

Sherlock groaned, “oh come on! That was a perfectly stable stack!” He kicked the coffee table they had been sitting at, sending it sliding a few feet.

Molly screamed as John watched it, frozen in place.

“Sh-Sherlock?” John waited for something more to happen, but Sherlock could tell he had drained most of his energy already. John swallowed thickly, “Is that you?”

Sherlock looked around for something to do, but settled on knocking once on the table. Molly immediately ran to John’s side.

“It’s ok Molly, it’s… it’s just Sherlock. Right?” The knock came again.

“We don’t know that, we can’t even tell where that noise is coming from.”

“Who else would be haunting my flat?”

Molly’s eyes briefly flicked to the skull on the mantle. John only rolled his eyes, “The skull has never been a problem before, I promise.” He cleared his throat again, looking in the general direction of the knocking. “If… if that’s really you Sherlock, can you prove it to us?”

“How am I suppose to prove it? There’s nothing useful in this place.” Sherlock grumbled, wishing he could just shoot a smiley face in the wall. For a moment he considered tapping out in morse code, but after the third tap he realized he had lost too much energy and could no longer be heard.

Molly was practically digging her nails into John’s arm.

“I think he’s trying to communicate…” John began realizing that’s why it had taken so long, Sherlock wasn’t use to this, he didn’t know what he was doing, he could even be trapped. That last thought sent a jolt of worry through him. “Sherlock… we’re going to help, we’ll figure something out.”

“I’m dead John, by definition I’m pretty beyond help.” Sherlock slumped back onto the sofa. “and I’m fine… just… really bored.”

________________________________________

 

John had gotten to work researching everything he could find on ghosts on the internet- which ended up mostly being creepy pasta and blatantly fake videos on youtube. Both of which were extremely unhelpful. Even more distressing somehow, were the dozens of sights and rituals he had found on ‘vanishing’ ghosts from ones home. They could have at least said ‘help pass on’, but no, they said ‘vanish’, like Sherlock was some unwanted pest.

Molly had gone back to the lab, promising to stop by again later after work. It was late by the time she came back and John looked positively drained from researching for so long.

“Find anything useful?” Molly put a large bag she brought with her by the couch and came over to look at the computer screen.

“Not much, unless you want to stay here till 3am,” he smiled wearily, “Supposedly ghost activity picks up then.” He really detested referring to his friend as a ‘ghost.’ “Oh, and I’m banning sage from ever entering the flat.”

“I brought some things that might help, I mean, they might not work… but I thought we could give it a try.”

“Oh?” John turned and spied the bag, getting up and sitting at the couch to see what was there. “I need a break from my computer.”

Molly dumped the contents of the bag out shyly.

“Is this an EMF detector?” John raised an eyebrow, not sure how that was suppose to help.

“I saw it on tv show, one of those ghost ones…”

“Right… well, Sherlock does like weird gadgets I guess.” The device instantly started going off, rising and falling at a semi regular rate. John couldn’t help but smirk, setting it down on the table so it would have a flat surface. “I think someone already likes it.”

Molly also pulled out a flashlight with a particularly sensitive button to turn it on, a Polaroid camera, and a Hasbro Company Ouija board.

John shook his head, “I don’t think he’s going to go for that.” The EMF detector went quiet. “Don’t be like that, it will be more effective then knocking on things or hurting the furniture.” It felt so strange to refer to Sherlock as though he was right there with them. He had died and there was no proof he could still be around. Not yet anyway. But it felt rude to pretend he wasnt there if he actually somehow was. 

“I thought about getting motion sensors, but I don’t think Sherlock would want that.” Molly bit at her lower lip. 

“Probably not… help set this up?” John cleared off the coffee table and opened the ouija board box up. “Glows in the dark? That’s incredibly corny… although we’ll still be able to see it if the lights go out again.” The lamp from earlier had luckily started working again before it got too dark outside.

John and Molly sat on the floor at either end of the table, placing their fingertips on the planchette.

“He’s probably laughing at us right now… come on Lock, I know you love having people listen to you.”

The planchette shook hesitantly, causing John and Molly to look at each other to silently ask if the other had moved it. It fumbled forward an inch and stopped. They waited, but nothing seemed to happen.

“Ok… lets think about this logically then…” John knew that there wasn’t exactly a ‘science of ghosts’ handbook they could reference. “The lamp went out earlier before you moved the table, did you use the lamp to do that? Well… the instructions said we have to put our hand on this pointer thing and the more people touching it the better. Maybe… could you use us to move it?”

“John!” Molly scolded him quietly.

“Me, I mean me.”

Sherlock shifted closer, feeling like an idiot for playing with something that was clearly labeled as a ‘child’s toy.’ He was afraid of hurting John, but carefully placed his hands over his.

John gasped, causing Sherlock to pull back. “Cold…”

Molly looked up, “Did something happen??”

Sherlock smiled lightly, putting his hands back on John’s and then through them.

John raised an eyebrow, “My hands are numb…”

Sherlock gently moved his hands and John’s followed, moving the planchette with them. It almost felt like having physical hands again. He had heard of people losing limbs and still being able too feel them, ‘phantom limbs.’ His whole body felt that way now, but he could feel John’s hands around him as if they were his own.

 

T-H-I-S-I-S-S

 

John beamed, Sherlock was really communicating with them, which was well worth the strange feeling in his hands.

 

-T-

 

“What…” John’s brows furrowed, that wasn’t what he was expecting, what if it wasn’t Sherlock after all?

 

-U-P-I-

 

“Sherlock… “ John groaned. That arse would write that. He couldn’t help but smile fondly as he shook his head.

The planchette circled the picture of the sun in the corner. “yes?”

It circled it again, trying to avoid the text by it. John looked at the imaged again, a smiling sun. “Oh!” He grinned.

“What does that mean?” Molly whispered, obviously still a bit afraid.

“It’s a smiley face.” He nodded towards the yellow one with bullet holes in it on the wall. “He does that sometimes, puts smiley faces on things.”

Molly had a look of confusion, “Why? Sorry, just doesn’t sound like him…”

“Yea… I think it’s a form of sarcasm…”

 

J-O-H-N The planchette stopped.

 

“Y-yes?”

It was a moment before it started moving again. S-O-R-R-Y

 

“I know, it’s alright. I know you didn’t mean for this to happen.”

 

I-M-O-K

 

John wasn’t sure when it had started, but he could feel the tears falling down his cheeks now. Sherlock wasn’t ok, he was dead. Incorporeal, unable to touch things for the most part, unseen and unheard. He was gone for the most part, barely hanging on to reality by a thread and possibly trapped that way forever.

“N-no… no, it’s not ok Lock… it’s not…” John had started sobbing.

Sherlock let go of his hands, shushing him despite knowing it wouldn’t be heard as he tried his best to wipe John’s tears away and hold him. “It’s ok, it’s ok… it’s not even that bad, just boring. I don’t like food and eating, I don’t go out unless it’s for a case, I don’t even have friends except for you John. You’re the only one that matters to me, please be strong.”

Molly ran to his side, trying to calm him as well. He couldn’t explain it, but John knew he could feel Sherlock around him, trying to calm him. Eventually John caught his breath, most of his tears dried now.

“You’ll come tomorrow right? To the case?” John was no longer touching the planchette, but it slowly made it’s way to the ‘Yes.’


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

 

John was still teary eyed by the time his body was so exhausted that he succumbed to sleep in Sherlock’s bed. He wasn’t sure how the late detective would feel about that, but he still felt oddly welcomed there.

John busily made up two plates of food and set the kettle, “How much bacon would you like?”

Sherlock sat at the table looking at a blank newspaper. The front was scribbled with odd symbols that were definitely not words with nothing at all on the interior pages. “Hm… nothing, I can’t eat.”

“You’re eating Lock, I wont let you waste away.” John pointed a spatula accusingly at him.

“You’re asleep, I can’t possibly eat anything you attempt to cook.” Sherlock tossed the newspaper aside, scooting his chair back as he put his feet on the table.

“Off the table!” John swatted the offending shoes away, “Really, you don’t have to ruin everything in the flat.” He set the steaming plate of pancakes and sausage in front of him.

Sherlock picked through the meal with a fork, would it simply disappear if he tried to consume it? “Are you even listening, or can you still not hear me?”

“I never know what on earth you’re going on about, so just eat up and we can talk about whatever new case you have.”

Sherlock grinned, “You haven’t accepted my death yet, but you’re subconsciously slipping back into normality- which is why we’re in the flat, and since we’re still taking cases together, you want to work the finer details out in person, not fully trusting you own abilities yet.”

“Accepted your- Sherlock, that’s really not funny. One of these days something bad could happen to you, and I would be devastated.” But despite his words, John felt a strange shiver up his spine.

Sherlock’s grin slowly turned into a frown, “I know. You’re not coping very well, I’m not even sure if you’ll remember this when you wake up, and even if you do, you might write off anything I say as part of your dream.” He curiously forked a piece of sausage and put it in his mouth, surprised to find it was the juiciest piece of meat he had eaten in his entire life.

John smiled as he watched Sherlock’s expression, his previous worry gone. “How is it?”

“Dreamy,” He couldn’t resist. “Ok, lets talk about our new case then, Daniel Rogers and his flat, do you need me to remind you about it?”

John shook his head, “No, he came by today to ask us to watch his security tape and stop by the flat when we could. Strange case…”

“Very… that’s all you remember?”

“There wasn’t much to it really.” John stirred his tea, looking lost in thought for a moment.

“Interesting… I think we should stop by there tomorrow. It could be any number of things, maybe someone with a grudge against Daniel is scaring people away so he’ll lose money, or it’s a prank done by neighbors. I think we should put up a few cameras inside the flat, possibly stage it so seem like the new tenant and see what happens.”

“Could be haunted,” John took a long sip of his tea, growing strangely nervous as the words left his mouth.

“It… could be… which would also prove beneficial. Though I’m not sure how we could help Daniel if that is the case.”

“Sh-Sherlock….” John’s voice suddenly sounded confused and fearful.

“Hm?”

“You… you’re…. I can see through you…”

Sherlock looked down to find he had become partially transparent, which meant John was likely remembering things which in his dream state was effecting the world around them. “John, I need you to calm down…” when had the kitchen grown so dark? “It’s alright, you’re just sleeping, none of this is real.”

“It has to be real, please Sherlock, I need this to be real. If it’s not real, then you’re not here…” John had crumpled to his knees on the floor, Sherlock immediately went to his aid. 

“John… I’m here. I’m right here, I need you to imagine me as solid right now, can you do that for me?” John nodded and Sherlock could feel his form becoming more physical again as he knelt down and wrapped his arms around him. “That’s right. Keep thinking like that. You’re still asleep, but it’s really me. I’ll be right by your side again when you wake up, you just wont be able to see me and it’s unlikely you’ll hear me very often, but I’ll be there. If you ever need to make sure I am, just ask, and I’ll do everything I can to let you know I’m there.”

John pulled him close, his eyes beginning to water, “I don’t know if this is real or not.”

“I think it’s somewhere in-between.”

“Are you trapped? Is that why you’re haunting the flat?”

“I’m not haunting the flat, I think I’m… don’t be afraid, but I think I’m haunting you.” Sherlock was a bit nervous by how John would react to that.

“You’re my best friend, why would I ever be afraid of you?”

Sherlock’s arms tightened around him, “Thank you John. I don’t deserve you.”

“Sherlock… if this is really you, not just a dream, we need to work out a better way of communicating.” 

“The ouija board is hardly practical, it takes you forever to tell what I’m writing- no spaces and all that, and you can’t exactly bring it with you on a case.”

“So cases might still be a regular thing, that would be…” strange, John thought. “But when you did it, you weren’t just moving the planchette were you? You were… it felt like you were inside my hands actually…” He stared down at his hands, remembering the strange feeling. “Do you think you could do that again?”

“I’m not sure, I suppose I can if I did it before. I’m not sure how much dexterity I can achieve though, if you want me to write things down using your hands, it would take a lot of practice.” Sherlock ran his long pale fingers over John’s arms where he had them outstretched and finally laced their hands together. “You don’t mind?”

“I would do almost anything to be able to talk to you again.” He gave Sherlock’s hands a small reassuring squeeze. “People will talk… they might think I’m crazy if they know about you.”

“They do little else, and I do my best to make you look sane if it really means that much to you. Although…”

“What?”

“It would be useful to both of us if Lestrade knew. I would like to still solve cases- I know you appreciate me ‘saving people’ and it would allow you to have someone else in the know.”

John nodded, “It took you a while to get me to realize you’re here, and I think I’m mostly gliding on faith at this point, how would we tell him?”

“I’ll figure something out, we’ll focus on communicating and the case for now.”

“Visit me in my dreams often? Even if I don’t remember them?”

“I promise.”

________________________________________

John woke early the following morning, his eyes still stinging a bit from the night before. He got up wearily, rubbing his eyes as his vision came back to him. He had gotten as far as the doorway, still clad in his pajamas, when his dream came back to him. It was nearly over whelming. He had the chance to see Sherlock again, talk to him, touch him even, and he had wasted it thinking he was making breakfast. Even if it was just a dream, he hated himself for not taking such a great moment to say so much more.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiatus Note:  
> Dear readers, I am tremendously sorry for never updating this story. I stopped writing all of my Sherlock fanfiction and this particular story was the absolute hardest to come back to. In real life, a very dear friend of mine took his own life after I last posted. For this reason, I could not bear to think about this story for some time. It has been years since I have written and I fear it will not be the same or even as good as before. I hope that I can give this story and others the closure that they need, though. I am very sorry for the sudden hiatus with no explanation.  
> For new readers: It may or may not be important to note that this story was written after season two and before season 3 aired. I had no knowledge of what season 3 or 4 would be about. So yea... a lot of crazy shit went down in those seasons. Ignore them. 
> 
>  
> 
> The end of this story and many plot points were known to me when I first started writing this. I just want you to know that nothing has changed and the original plot and ending will still be the same.

Chapter 9

This was ridiculous. Completely ridiculous. Ok, so there were a few strange noises the other day and then Molly had brought over a Ouija Board. That didn’t prove anything other then mass hysteria. John leaned against the kitchen counter, tea mug in hand. Dreams, noises, and his grief stricken mind, that was all that was going on. He felt utterly absurd now that he thought about it. There were no such things as ‘ghosts’. Sherlock had died. It was a horrible thing and John knew he would miss him for the rest of his life. But god damn it, he wasn’t haunting him. This whole thing was giving him a raging headache.

John had, however, agreed to investigate a case. Somehow. Alright, that bit was much more unclear, but it obviously had a logical explanation. His eyes glanced down at his hands. Last night had really felt like someone else was controlling them. Not forcefully, but more of a gentle guiding. He felt his eyes reddening, tears trying to form, though he wasn’t sure if he was even physically capable of crying any more. He felt beyond drained now. 

He had wanted it to be Sherlock guiding his hands. He wanted to see his best friend in every strange noise there was. But Sherlock was gone. 

John glanced down at where his phone was resting on the table. He had half expected it to light up with a message at any moment. It seemed it was constantly receiving messaged the last few days. People he could hardly even remember, sending their condolences. As kind a gesture as that was, it was just exhausting. He had stopped sending back ‘thank you’ texts and hadn’t answered his phone unless it was work. Normalcy would be highly welcomed about now, not that he could ever slip back to his old life again. Not without Sherlock. 

“No messages,” John flicked his phone screen on and gave it a quick check before plopping it into his pocket. “Good. Rather not talk to anyone just now.” No one living at least. He headed towards the door. Deciding a bit of fresh air would do him some good. 

He was only a few steps away from leaving when he heard a knock at the door. John stopped mid step, focused on the wood before him. The corner of his mouth twitched up a bit. He had heard that, right? A knock… But no, it wasn’t- it couldn’t be- but so many strange things had happened the last couple days and even Molly thought- 

Another knock. 

He had certainly heard that. “Sher-“

“John?!” The knocking came harder and John felt like an utter imbicile. It was clearly Lestrade’s voice. 

“Shite, sorry.” John quickly opened it, feeling even more like a fool then ever before. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

Lestrade looked beyond relieved when he saw John, as if he had been expecting to knock the door down to get in. He let out a breath he had been holding, “I’d be lying if I said I haven’t been worried about you. Thought I ought to check in.” He subtly scanned the flat, which John noticed despite Greg’s best efforts. But the place didn’t seem to be too much of a mess, just some knocked over books. He thought John might not be taking care of himself. “Mind if I come in?”

“Sure thing, tea?” John offered, knowing that Lestrade was trying to determine if he was still stable or not. He wasn’t sure either way himself. 

Greg nodded, “Thanks. That would be good.” Taking a peak in the kitchen would be useful as well. He noticed right away that it didn’t look like John had packed up or gotten rid of anything that belonged to Sherlock. Even the kitchen table had some of his weird science stuff still on it. Possibly not a good sign. He took a peak at Sherlock’s bedroom door, it had been left open. The bed looked as though it had been slept in. But John wouldn’t really resort to sleeping in there, would he? 

John was busily putting the kettle on the stove. 

“Sleeping well?” Lestrade wanted to catch him off guard. 

“Oh uh… yea. Mostly.” Not entirely, he was having horrible nightmares and sometimes thought his dead friend was talking to him. 

Greg wasn’t convinced. “Any plans for today?” 

“Yes, we were planning to-“ Shite. “ I was planning to,” he corrected himself but he knew it was too late and that Greg would have caught that slip up. “To…”

Greg looked at him curiously. 

John realized that it might sound bad to admit that he was planning on working a case. “Visit an old friend.” He quickly came up with a lie.

“Oh? And who’s that?” The detective knew something was up. 

“Daniel.” John got down two mugs, managing to keep his expression and tone even so Greg would have nothing else to suspect. “Daniel Rogers. Great guy.” He grabbed two tea bags. 

“I see.” Was John telling the truth or was he just being crafty? It was hard to tell. 

A moment later John was handing him his tea. He thought back to his dream last night. Sherlock wanted him to tell Lestrade everything. He looked down into his mug. He couldn’t possibly do that. The detective would think he was crazy and insist he see his therapist. Which maybe he actually really should do. Maybe he was crazy. Maybe he should tell Greg. 

“Greg, I…” It felt like it was far too much. He wanted Sherlock to still be around so very much. 

Lestrade put his mug down at the corner of the table, but John was still lost for words. 

“I lied. I haven’t been sleeping well.”

Lestrade nodded. “You’ve been sleeping in his bed, haven’t you?” It wasn’t judgmental, just a statement of fact.

John sighed, “I don’t even know how you figured that out… I keep telling myself I wont do it again, but then it keeps happening.” It was just so welcoming and it even smelled like him. Then there were all those strange things that have been happening recently. “I know why you’re here, Greg. So if there’s anything specific you came to tell me, you can just come out and say it.” He didn’t want to beat around the bush anymore. 

Greg adjusted himself in his seat and scratched at his neck a bit awkwardly. “Well, to tell the truth, Mycroft wanted me to come over and encourage you to see some grief councilor or something like that. At the very least...”

“See my therapist again?” John rolled his eyes.

“Yea, sorry. I know I probably wasn’t suppose to know, but its really fine. Lots of people see em. Besides, you were at war, pretty normal.” 

“Sounds like something he would put someone up to doing. I somehow thought Mycroft would finally piss off now that… that Sherlock’s gone.” John hated that funeral arrangements and everything else would probably be left to Mycroft, being Sherlock’s closest relative. Though John hadn’t even heard mention of a funeral yet. 

“It could be a good idea. Doing something like that. But that’s not why I came. I just thought… hell, maybe you wanna go out for a drink or two some night. Maybe make that a regular thing. You’re a good friend, John. I don’t want to loose you too.”

John smiled at that. “That would be nice actually. I could certainly use a few drinks.” It would beat drinking at home alone. 

“It’s a date then,” Greg teased, when suddenly his mug fell off the corner of the table. 

John froze. 

“Shit! Sorry about that,” Greg quickly got up and tried to clean the mess. Bits of ceramic every where. “You alright?” He couldn’t help but notice John not responding. 

“Hm? Oh, yea. I’m fine… don’t worry about the mug.” It was absolutely something Sherlock would do, often did whenever he had heard about John going on a date with someone. “He was joking you prat.”

Lestrade blinked. “Excuse me?” It sounded like John was talking to himself.

“Nothing. Nothing, here, let me get that for you.” John grabbed a dust pan and swept up the mug pieces. 

“Well it didn’t sound like a joke.” Sherlock had of course been listening in, leaning against the counter the whole time. Except for when he knocked the mug over. “He could be preying on you in your weakened emotional state.” He tisked. “Besides, you don’t seem to be anywhere close to telling him I’m here. Maybe I’ll just have to do it myself.” 

“Sorry,” Lestrad sat back in his seat. “No idea how that even happened. Must have bumped the table somehow.”

“Yea, or something…” Maybe he wasn’t crazy. Maybe somehow Sherlock was really there after all. He took another sip of his tea.

Leastrade pulled his coat a bit closer around him, “Sort of chilly in here, isn’t it.” 

John swallowed a rather large gulp of earl grey. Doing all that weird research the day before really helped. Cold spots usually meant something was building. Was Sherlock about to try something? 

Loud voices came from the living room. John nearly dropped his mug. He was certainly not expecting that. Lestrade quickly stood, looking a bit alarmed as well. 

“You have company?” He didn’t wait to find out as he walked towards the sound. It seemed the tele had come on by its self. 

John was a bit more at ease at seeing that’s all it was. Just one of Sherlock’s new little tricks. Lestrade however, was far from laid back. 

“We’re alone, right?” He whispered to John. 

John wasn’t quite sure how to respond to that. “I don’t see anyone else.” At least it wasn’t a lie. 

“How do you turn this thing off?” Lestrade looked around for a remote, but when he finally spotted it, the tv went off on its own. The detective nearly jumped out of his skin. “The hell!?” He could feel his heart pounding. He wasn’t sure why, but it just didn’t sit right with him. “You’re not pranking me, are you?” 

John was pretty nervous, he didn’t want to scare Greg off or make him think he was a loony. “Its not me… its-” 

Greg’s phone went off and he glanced down at it, “Sorry, I have to take this.” He answered, seeing it was the station. “Lestrade here.” He seemed to be listening to someone.

John looked around, wondering if Sherlock had enough decency to lay off while Greg was talking to someone. Likely not. 

“986 Chapel? I’m on my way. Be there in a moment.” Greg hung up and put his phone back in his pocket. “Sorry John, I have to-“

“Did you just say 986 Chapel? As in Chapel Lane? That’s Daniel’s place…”

“Crap, John, there was murder reported there.” He didn’t really want to leave John alone when there seemed to be something strange happening in the flat. 

“I’m coming with you.” John grabbed a coat. If Sherlock was around, which he likely was, he hoped he joined them. It seemed possible at least if Sherlock really was in his office at the hospital the other day. 

“Er, are you sure? I mean, it is an active crime scene after all.” 

John raised an eyebrow at that, “Which I go to with great frequency, I feel like pointing out.” 

He had a point. “Fine, come on, lets go. I’m sorry, but there was no word on who the body was or what even happened. I don’t know if your friend is ok or not.” The two quickly went out side to hail cab. 

“What friend?” John looked genuinely confused for a moment. “Oh, uh, yea, Daniel. Er, hope he’s ok.” 

Lestrade narrowed his eyes. “God damn it, you lied to me?” He was as bad as Sherlock. But it was too late, a cab already arrived. “You’re explaining yourself.” 

“I will, but not in the cab.” He nodded towards the cabbie, not wanting to say it in front of anyone else. “You… wouldn’t have liked the real reason why I was going to visit him is all.”   
________________________________________

When they arrived, there were a few police cars about, but not nearly as many as a typical homicide would warrant. Lestrade jumped out, all business, John was quick to follow. Donovan was already there, luckily having the squad car with her. 

“What going on here, where is everyone?” Lestrade was looking pretty annoyed at the lack of work happening. 

“Sorry Sir, seems there was some miscommunication. There’s no body.” She scrunched her nose when she saw John. “What’s he doing here?” 

Lestrade glowered at her, he had enough of her mocking Sherlock while working, and now that he had died, he sure as hell wasn’t about to tolerate her saying anything against John. “Never you mind him. What do you mean there’s no body.”

She turned her attention back to him, “A neighbor called it in, Sir. Said he saw a man inside tying someone up and then strangling him to death.” 

“So why is no one collecting evidence?”

“There isn’t any. We checked every where, but there’s no sign of struggle. No sign anyone has even been inside the place in a while. The owner said that room isn’t occupied, not since the last tenant left.” 

“So either our attacker is good at covering their trails or we have a caller who needs some checking up on.” Weather crazy or lying to waste police time. 

Donovan shrugged, “You can check for yourself, but the floor is a bit dusty and there’s aren’t even foot prints.” 

Lestrade walked past her, he didn’t come all this way to not look at a crime scene. He nodded for John to follow him. “I think its time you told me why you were coming here today.”

John put his hands in his pockets as he followed Lestrade in. “Daniel Rogers sent me an email a few days ago. It was before…” 

“Right, so, he was hiring you guys for a case or something?” He didn’t want to force John to say Sherlock had died. He didn’t need to hear it again himself. 

“Yea. It seems something has been scaring all his renters away. We were- I was going to come help figure it out.” 

So that’s why John kept slipping into plural. Sherlock and he must have agreed to take the case before Sherlock died. It all made sense now. He didn’t want to leave Sherlock’s work undone. He gave John a pat on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, I understand.” 

John felt a little confused, “You do?” Well, he certainly wasn’t going to argue with him. 

“Sounds like whatever this is, its connected to your case.” They got to the room the attack was reported in. Nothing seemed out of place. Just a simple room, nothing but a bed with a night stand and a dresser in it. “Well, I don’t see a body.” 

“Maybe someone snuck in?” 

“The door was locked before the incident was reported and was still locked when the police got here.” Donovan had silently followed them in. “Besides, what would be the point? No one was here to see or hear it, and seems like just a coincidence that someone happened to spot it from the street.”

“Damn.” Lestrade rubbed his forehead. Too bad Sherlock wasn’t here. He loved this sort of weird mystery type thing.

“There is a window though.” John pointed out. “Did anyone check if that was unlocked?” 

“Seriously?” Donovan rolled her eyes. “We’re three stories up. Are you really suggesting someone, two people in fact, climbed all the way up the wall and through the window on the off chance that it might be unlocked, just to pull of an elaborate prank on some unsuspecting jogger?” 

“There’s no reason to think it was a prank.” Lestrade wasn’t sure what to make of this yet, but he also wasn’t going to throw in the towel like Donovan clearly already had. 

Sherlock had been pacing the room, searching for anything. But there wasn’t even as much as a loose strand of hair on the carpet. Which actually seemed a bit odd. The ground wasn’t exactly clean, but there wasn’t so much as an eyelash lying around? Someone cleaned this room up thoroughly and then locked it off. “This was staged. Someone was meant to see this. But why?” He looked at John. He really needed him right now. He had no idea how much his praise helped Sherlock think. Sherlock needed a look inside the closet. But when he tried, it wouldn’t budge. He couldn’t even step through it like he could with the door at home. Perhaps his haunting parameter was just out of reach of it. Maybe if he got John a bit closer to the door, even better, if he could get John to open it somehow. 

“We should check the rest of the place too, the attack might have happened in here, but we have a whole flat to search.” Lestrade turned, ignoring the closet door. 

“John wait, I need you,” Sherlock just had to stop them. He looked at the few pieces of furniture in there and noticed one of the dresser drawers wasn’t fully closed. He gathered all the energy he could muster up and forced it shut. Making a satisfying sound. All three of them immediately turned back towards the room, searching it frantically now. 

“I know I heard something,” Lestrade even lifted the mattress of the bed to check there. But naturally found nothing. 

“I don’t understand,” Donovan sounded rather confused, “This room and the whole flat was already cleared.

John on the other hand was growing rather use to odd sounds at unexpected times. Could it have been Sherlock? If so, why did he choose now to make a sound? Was he trying to tell them there was something here? He shook his head, this was like trying to find someone lost in a well because Lassie barked at you. He hung his head down for a moment as he held the top of the dresser and held onto it. “I just need something more clear.” He mumbled, hoping Donovan and Lestrade wouldn’t hear him. “like that thing you did with my hands.” Even he could hardly hear himself whisper that part. 

Sherlock really didn’t want to over step his bounds, but John was essentially asking for it. After all, if he could move John’s hands while inside them, why not something else? He clenched his fists and stepped forward, into John. 

John gripped the dresser harder, his whole body feeling strange and numb. His head jerked to the side, almost as though someone had forcibly moved his head in that direction. He felt like he might panic at any moment, but as he blinked he realized something. There was a thin door. A closet door most likely. The numb feeling suddenly left him. “Have you guys check in there?” 

Sally looked up, “What, the closet?” She was sure the police earlier would have looked, but they had heard that strange noise. She cautiously opened the door, relieved to find no one inside. “Its just some old rope?”

“Rope like what the attacker used on their victim?” Lestrade raised and eyebrow and came closer to take a look. 

“Not exactly evidence that a crime took place here.” Sally pointed out. 

“No, but its odd. Feels like more then a coincidence that the report involved rope if it really never happened.” 

Sherlock tried to think of how the witnesses might have seen what they claimed to have seen. He needed to first rule out anything impossible. But there was a glaring flaw with that. A lot more was suddenly possible now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tried to fix all the typos I found. If you spot any, please alert me so I can fix them. I dont have anyone editing my stories for me at this time.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know if there are typos

Chapter 10 

There wasn’t much that Lestrade could do. It looked like the case was already cold. There were no leads and zero evidence to go on. There wasn’t even evidence that a crime was committed, let alone proof. The DI sighed, he knew Sherlock would have had a field day with this one and would have thought of some terribly clever way to solve it. But Sherlock was gone now and wasn’t coming back. 

Every case that Greg had gotten in the past few days he wanted to run by the consulting detective, only to remember that those days were far gone. He knew that Sherlock had his problems. But suicide? It hardly seemed like him at all. He had lived a risky lifestyle, not just chasing down criminals but the drug abuse as well. But even then, Greg couldn’t fathom that he wanted to end things. Especially since life had finally begun looking up for him. He had friends, himself included. Even a best friend. Lestrade refused to believe the things the press had been printing about him. That he was a fraud that made up being a genius. Those people didn’t know him, couldn’t know the real Sherlock Holmes. But Lestrade knew. Sherlock was an absolute genius that could solve nearly any case. If only someone was smart enough to solve the late detective’s death. 

But Greg knew that Sherlock wasn’t someone who put a lot of importance in frivolous things and was certainly not the sort to want flowers at his grave. He wanted to honor his friend, but there seemed to be few ways how. Perhaps continuing his work, but as a DI, he was already obligated to solve crimes. Sherlock didn’t much care for the media or if his name had been smeared either, so that seemed like a wasted effort. But there was something, or rather, someone, he cared very deeply for indeed. And John cared just as much for him as well. 

After the initial investigation of the flat, Lestrade’s hands were tied. There was nothing more he could do other then fill out a report and wait for something more to happen. But there was also the matter of John Watson to consider. It was the last case that he had agreed to go on with Sherlock, and he knew that John was intending to go through with it. He let Sally get a head start to their squad car and waited for John. 

Greg placed a hand on John’s shoulder as he exited the room, “I know you’re not intending to let this go unsolved. But, er, do you have any plan?”

“Well, Sherlock’s plan was to steak the place out. Stay in the flat and wait to see if anything happened. Besides, since it’s a case, I’m sure the rent is free for a while as long as I’m investigating.” He wasn’t sure what his plan might be if nothing ever turned up. 

“Right,” Lestrade kept his hand firmly on him. He believed that John might not want to return to his own flat where there were countless items to remind him of their late friend. “If-“ he nervously licked his lower lip, “if there’s anything you need, even from your flat, I’ll be happy to grab it for you.”

John looked rather surprised by that, “Oh, its not that big a deal, really.” Although it would have been a better idea to grab at least one night’s worth of supplies before he and Greg had headed over earlier. 

“I mean it John. Even if you want me to stay over, here or at the flat, anywhere really, it’s all fine.” 

‘Oh,’ John thought, this was about Sherlock. That first day, after Sherlock had… he had spent the day at Greg’s place sobbing so hard that he could hardly remember anything that had happened. Greg had of course offered to let him spend the night, but for some reason he had insisted upon going home. He had felt drawn there even. Of course Greg had been worried, had been mourning on his own even. “That’s…” He wanted to say more then necessary, he really did. Besides, what if the DI thought he was utterly bonkers for thinking perhaps Sherlock might still be around? “That could be nice, actually.” John let out a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding. He had felt so impossibly lonely. He hadn’t been holding up at all. 

Greg smiled, though there was some sad element just behind his eyes and the way he forced the corners of his mouth up. But he was trying, after all. “I’ll stop by my place too and grab a few things. You can come with if you like, or-”

“That’s alright, I’ll stay here, check the place out a bit more and talk to Rogers. Might make a trip to Tescos, even.” 

“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” Lestrade promised, patting him on the back. 

Sherlock smiled from where he had been leaning against the wall. John needed looking after, and admittedly, he had missed the DI as well. Perhaps it was time he started branching out and trying to contact others. 

***

Daniel Rogers was rather shaken up that the police had come by. He had been out at the time of the initial report and came back to the place surrounded by police cars. It didn’t exactly help him settle his nerves which had already been on edge. 

John awkwardly sat across from him, drinking a cup of tea as he watched Daniel stress eat what seemed to be the entire contents of his cupboard as he rambled on and on about his life. John wasn’t quite sure how any of this was related to the case, but listened politely. 

Roger’s sighed, “Then I cant even rent these damn rooms out. It’s like I’m cursed or something.” He seemed utterly exasperated. 

Were curses real? John wasn’t honestly sure. Last week he would have assured Daniel that he was being ridiculous and that was impossible. But now, well, he wasn’t sure what was and wasn’t real anymore. “I’m sure that’s not the case,” he attempted a chuckle that probably came out as more of a nervous reaction. “Besides, there’s sure to be an answer to this and I’m here to solve it.” 

“Thank you Dr Watson, you have no idea how much this means to me.” Daniel looked as though he were on the verge of tears. “I don’t want to be a failure of a land lord as well.” 

John really hoped this awkward bit would be over soon. “I was going to stake the place out tonight, see if there is anything to be, uh, seen.” 

“That would be perfect! I really cant thank you enough. I’m sort of too afraid to stay there myself…” Daniel ate another biscuit. “I couldn’t possibly handle the stress. In those creepy rooms, all alone, waiting for any strange noise to occur knowing that everyone else has left in what seemed like terror. Maybe it’s even some crazed psycho by sounds of that witness today. Maybe’s he’s even waiting to-”

John cleared his throat loudly. Thank goodness Lestrade had offered to spend the night with him, not that he wanted to admit that he was already getting spooked. But now that ghosts were more then something in a cheesy horror film to him, he didn’t really want to find out if there were vile spirits floating around the world. Especially in bedrooms he planned on sleeping in. “Well, I’m sure it will all be sorted out soon enough.” 

Daniel beamed and suddenly took John’s hand to shake it with both of his own. “This is really great of you. Take all the time you need and I’ll check in on you in the mornings. Will Mr Holmes be here soon?”

“Er,” John was dreading this. He really didn’t want to lie to Mr Rogers, but things just kept happening to imply that Sherlock was incidentally not dead. “The thing is-” Miraculously, John’s phone dinged with a text at that time.

“Ah, that’s probably him now. Well, I should let you get to work. Don’t hesitate to call if there’s anything you need.” Daniel gave John an overly hard pat on the shoulder.

“Uh Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind. I should really be going off to investigate now.” He showed himself to the door and sighed in relief once he was outside. He really didn’t want to go through all the awkwardness of explaining about Sherlock right now. 

John pulled his phone out and swiped it open. It was just Greg texting about anything he might need from the flat. 

***

Greg’s flat was an absolute mess after Sherlock had died. There were old case files laying all about from cases he had the late detective help him with. Each one of them were only solved because Sherlock was there for input. There was no way one person could possibly faked that much work. He had to right this, however he possibly could.

He made quick work of packing for the night, grabbing just the essentials and a few open cases he thought he might a review for the hundredth time while there. 

On his way to 221b he messaged John about what he would need from there and where he might find it. He was grateful that the reply was quick to come. 

‘A change of clothes would be nice, those will be in the upstairs dresser. A phone charger and my laptop would be nice too, if that’s not too much trouble.’ –JW

‘Sure thing. If there’s anything else, don’t hesitate to ask.’ –GL

It didn’t take him long to get there and Mrs Hudson was more then happy to unlock the door for him. He didn’t have much time to look around before and he knew Mycroft would likely be pestering him about anything concerning in the flat. But John had actually seemed… surprisingly well. He certainly wasn’t holed up and unwilling to come out at least. He would be ok, he was sure of it. 

That was when he saw it. 

A freshly unboxed Ouija board to the side of the coffee table. 

“Damn.” Greg had really though that John was doing ok. But he didn’t want to report in to Mycroft about this. It just felt dirty. When it has just been Sherlock he would report about, it was for a good reason. He couldn’t let him get back into drugs or any other risky behavior. But thus was John. Mycroft had no right to know. Lestrade let out a sigh. He didn’t want to ask John about it either. 

He decided to just quickly grab the items requested and go. 

***

John had begun his search of the flat, looking for anything potentially suspicious or that might aid him in his investigation. There wasn’t much, but it seemed a few odd items had been left in the flat from previous tenants. Three quarters of a container of salt drew his interests in case it was in fact paranormal activity they were dealing with. But he feared lining any doors with it, in case Sherlock would be trapped. Besides, he wasn’t sure if the Internet was just listing off any old wives tale, or if it actually worked. 

John was rifling through a closet when he found some old board games. He had wanted a way to more directly contact Sherlock still, but he was out of luck. There was no Hasbro Company Ouija board in there. After all, seemed like an odd thing to be sold as a toy. There was however, a scrabble set. Which gave John a promising idea. 

He had turned on every light in the flat, making sure it was as well lit as possible. There were no signs of a break in at all, and given that whatever was going on seemed to be repeating its self for all the tenants, it was possible the perpetrator had another way of getting in. 

John sat on the edge of the bed. It wouldn’t be long before the sun would start to dip down and there wasn’t much he could do but wait for Greg to come back. 

“This is boring.” Sherlock shouted, not that anyone could hear him. But there was nothing at all to do. He couldn’t even shoot a gun at the wall talk to John. What was the point of being there if he wasn’t really there? Even dramatically flopping down on the bed had no effect. The sheets were exactly the same as before and John was unmoving. 

It was odd, in fact. It seemed that even back at 221b he had more effect on the world around him. After all, he had turned that tv on and broken a mug just that morning. It had taken a great deal of effort to build up to that. But now he couldn’t even open a closet door or properly wrinkle up a bed sheet. Something had changed. 

“John?” There was of course no answer. “JOHN?!” Sherlock tried yelling at the top of his lungs to no avail. 

“SHHHH!” A shushing sound came from a room over. 

Sherlock bolted upright. John hadn’t noticed the sound. He seemed to be idly fiddling with his phone. Had someone come in when he wasn’t paying attention? No, that made no sense. John should have responded. No one should have heard him anyway, not if John still shouldn’t hear him. 

He quietly stood, walking to the doorway of the bedroom and peering out into the hall. There was no one there. He stepped back inside and without warning the lights began to flicker softly. 

John looked up, confused for a moment. Perhaps the building just needed new wiring. He looked back at his phone, checking his email and mass deleting media outlets asking for interviews on his late friend. 

A slow creaking came from behind him. Sherlock’s head immediately shot over to it. The closet door had come open again. 

John looked around. There was nothing that would have caused it to just open like that. Could it have been? “S-Sherlock? Is that… is that you?” Did he want him to investigate it further?

“John no! I don’t know what’s going on, but I definitely am not causing this…” He didn’t see any logical way of getting that message across to him though. 

John stepped towards it, peering inside at the mostly empty closet and the old rope that was still there. 

“Don’t go in there!” Sherlock somehow thought that if he yelled his words, John would be better at picking up on his message. But obviously this wasn’t working. He tried pull at John’s arm to stop him, but his hands only went through him. 

But now that he was closer to the closet, he could feel it. There was something coming off the rope. It had looked ordinary enough at first, but it was different. He reached out to touch it and immediately pulled back. It was as though he had just been scolded by something exceptionally hot. He looked down at his hand, but there was no marking. Sherlock reminded himself that his form was really some sort of illusion he simply controlled, of course there would be no physical mark. 

He looked at the rope again, there was something there. Something coming off the thick chords. Sherlock squinted his eyes. It was like heat on pavement on a hot summer’s day. It was a though his eyes were only beginning to adjust to the world around him. 

John stepped further in. “Could be a hidden panel in here, is that what it is?” He tried carefully tapping on every surface he could. 

Sherlock huffed. Why was John so dense? Something could have been luring him into the closet. 

“Perfect.” An unfamiliar voice rang out and again John paid no response. 

Sherlock’s head whipped around just in time to see someone, perhaps something mere meters away from them. It was humanoid, but entirely cast in inky shadow. 

The door slammed shut on John. He immediately turned to attempt the handle, but it refused to turn. He slammed on the door and screamed out for help. There was no way Sherlock would have don’t this to him. 

Sherlock was furious. “Who are you?!”

John froze, his hand even letting go of the door handle. That was Sherlock’s voice just outside of the door. 

A low chuckle came, one that John couldn’t recognize. “Lost your conduit?” The inky smear of a person faded into nothing at that. 

Sherlock didn’t have time for this. John was panic and- no? John had stopped actually? The detective tried the handle, but it barely moved. “Shit.”

John couldn’t even make out where the door handle was in the pitch dark of the tiny closet. He could only see a bit of light seeping through from the door crack on the floor. Two thin striped blocked part of the light. Legs? No. No no no. 

“That was your voice…”

Sherlock blinked. Was John… talking to him? “John?”

There. Just then. John could make out a almost unperceivable whisper. But it was Sherlock. He was sure of that much. But, who had he been yelling at then? 

“I’ll get you out. Don’t panic.” 

“Don’t leave!” John shouted. Suddenly terrified that whatever had allowed him to hear Sherlock this once wouldn’t be around again later. “I… I might never hear your voice again.” He was glad no one could see him like this. Tears streaming down his cheeks as he was locked in a closet. 

Sherlock spread his fingers out the door, wishing he could be face to face with John right now. But he couldn’t even slip through solid surfaces now. 

“I’ll still come to you in dreams.” Sherlock promised. 

“That’s really you in them?” John held a hand over his mouth. This couldn’t be real. Maybe he had checked on the closet and tripped. Accidentally locked himself in and was now having a psychotic break. 

Sherlock would do anything to get John out of harms way right now. “Please John. I know what you’re thinking. Stop. I have to get you out.”

John’s hand found the doorknob again and grasped it. An electric jolt seemed to go through it and shock him. He let out a little yelp. Sherlock looked down and released the handle as he realized what happened. 

“Conduit…” John repeated whatever that strange voice had said. “You need a conduit.” That was one of those pseudo science terms he had heard online while researching. 

It seemed Sherlock was somehow able to follow him to work and the morgue before. But if he was still trying to build up energy for communication, he needed an object to ‘bond’ to or whatever those ghost hunter people had been talking about. 

John reached for his phone to text Lestrade, but found it wasn’t with him. “Shit. My phone.”

Sherlock looked over at where it was laying on the bed. 

“Sherlock… If…. If you’re some how really there, I need you to listen to me. You need something of yours. Some item that maybe you had a connection to before. It might help you, er… ‘manifest’.” This sounded bloody insane. “It could help you communicate maybe.”

Sounded simple enough, but how the hell was Sherlock suppose to just grab some old stuff of his? 

“I should have told Greg to grab something of yours. Your scarf or anything.” He would be here soon at least and know something was wrong when John didn’t answer the door. At least he knew help was coming. 

That was right, Sherlock thought. Lestrade was at their flat now. There were numerous items he could grab that might have some effect. He couldn’t exactly hail a cab down though. Could he even make it to the flat on foot from here as a ghost? 

As he tried to think of ways to get back home, the world around Sherlock seemed to fade away into oblivion. 

Around him now was the familiar sight of 221b.

***

Lestrade had finished grabbing the few items and sticking them in a duffel bag. Hopefully it would just be a nice calm night with John. He turned to look at the flat. 

“You’ll always mean the world to me, Sherlock. Where ever you are, I just want you to know that.” He gave an awkward chuckle and dried wetness forming at the base of his right eye. “You stupid sap. Doubt he could possibly here ya now.” He reached for a cigarette. He had quit a year ago, but ended up buying a pack two days ago to deal with the stress. 

“Those things will kill you, you know.” Sherlock smirked. 

Greg dropped the duffle bag, his pack of cigarettes falling to the ground and spilling every where as well. “Blood hell… I swear to god Sherlock- if you- if you’re still fucking here-”

That maniac would fake his own death. 

Lestrade marched around, looking every where for the detective. But came up empty handed. “Sherlock… I could have sworn I…” Shit. Maybe he was starting to loose it. 

Sherlock really didn’t have time reassure Lestrade right now. He needed to get back to John as soon as he could. He stepped over to the mantle and gently pushed a picture frame on it. It fell to the ground with rather a great deal of noise. So he could in fact move things better here. 

Greg was started and immediately searched for the cause of the noise. He carefully picked the picture frame up. It was a picture from one of their cases together. 

Greg could feel his hands starting to shake. He didn’t want to even be considering this right now. But he couldn’t see how this frame had fallen. Where that voice had come from. Why had John been using a Ouija board? No, this was ridiculous. Just coincidences. 

Sherlock had a far more limited time frame for convincing Lestrade. Or at least getting him to bring something of his back to the flat they were investigating. He also needed to pick something he would have had a connection to. Multiple things would even be better if he could get the DI to bring them. 

He quickly went off to his bedroom, there was probably something there. Sherlock smiled softly. His favorite blue scarf had been carefully folded on the bedside table. John had done that, of course. But now he needed to get Greg in there. 

Sherlock looked around a bit more and spotted his violin. But even if he could move it a bit, there was no way he would be able to play it. He slumped in the chair beside it. He was fairly certain he had heard of ‘phantom music’ before. And he very much doubted ghosts were just playing regular instruments to do it. He looked back at the scarf. It was an odd feeling to see the real one laying there when to him it felt as though he had been wearing it all day. He could even feel the fabric of it around his neck. Changing what he wore had of course been his first experiment in this new form. Again, he doubted very much that he looked remotely like this anymore. Sherlock straightened up a bit. If he could make it seem as though he was wearing clothing he clearly wouldn’t be wearing, why not be able to hold something else that wasn’t strictly real? 

He stretched his left arm forward, palm up to adjust the pegs of his violin. His right hand pantomimed holding a bow. Sherlock’s eyes closed for a moment as he imaged that first note and then another. 

Greg returned the frame to its rightful place on the mantle when he heard the sound of soft music coming from the bedroom. He thought he must be mistaken at first, but there it was. Gentle violin music. He couldn’t decide if this was some prank or what was going on, but seeking the source of the sound was probably best. 

The music faded out as Greg reached Sherlock’s bedroom. But as he stepped inside, the violin in the corner shifter and gently tapped against the dresser as though it had just been moved. He carefully picked it up. 

What if somehow Sherlock himself was trying to tell him something? Greg felt a bit awkward just holding it like that. “Well I don’t know how to play?” 

Sherlock rolled his eyes. Why was everyone so dense? He gently kicked at the case, which fell forward. 

Lestrade jumped at the sound and saw it. “A case? Oh! You want the violin in the case?” 

“It’s a wonder how any crime will ever be solved from now on.” 

Greg blinked. This was weird and probably nuts. But on the exceptionally off chance that his dead friend wanted him to do something, he was sure as hell gonna do it. “You want me to take this with me?”

Sherlock flopped onto the bed. “It’s a miracle. You figured something out.”

“Not sure what I’ll tell John when he sees me with this. Oh well.” He carefully packed the violin and bow up. Then noticing Sherlock’s iconic blue scarf. It was positioned next to the bed of course, where John had been sleeping. 

He had told John that he would bring him anything he needed. But he knew that sometimes people couldn’t ask for the things that actually got them through the night. Greg took the folded up scarf and tucked it into his coat pocket. Maybe what Sherlock wanted was to make sure that he was still a part of John’s life.


End file.
